Tales of Obi-wan Kenobi: The Mandalorian Knight
by ThatOne749
Summary: What if our favorite Jedi accepted a mandalorian's offer to stay. Carve out his own path to serve the balance, not pander to the High Council (and by extension, the Senate)? How would this affect not only Obi-wan, but the galaxy at large. Completely AU, mix of 'Legends' and Cannon as story progresses, to create a more familiar galaxy with some deserving alien concepts.
1. Chapter 1

966 years after Ruusan Reformation, 3rd month, 2nd day, 11:30 Galactic Standard Time (or [966:3:2] 11:30am)

"Master?"

The questioning tone of Obi wan Kenobi, Padawan to Qui Gon Jinn echoed through the serene halls of the Council tower as the young man found his Jedi master, having both come from different directions.

"Ah, Padawan, how did your sparring go?" The brief flush on the younger's face told Qui-Gon more than his padawan could. Evidently there was an embarrassing story there, which he was _very much_ looking forward to getting. Always good to remind the younger generation that, contrary to popular belief their elders did in fact, possess at least _a little_ knowledge and a master of the same age group as Mace Windu could at least offer pointers on duelling.

 _No stop that, Bad Jedi Master_ he chided himself internally. After all, on attaining the rank of Master, one had to be above such petty gripes as 'I told you so' and the like. Well, in the name of educating a Padawan, a few subtle hints to the affect would be regarding more as a teaching exercise, surely, than a petty one-upmanship.

"Fine Master." His apprentice muttered. "Would you have any idea why the Council summoned us master, a mission perhaps?" the eagerness for a mission was written all over the young man's posture, leaving Qui-Gon a second to lament another potentially missed opportunity to get some of the Old Guard together for an impromptu duel tournament.

Buoyed by this thought, Obi wan Kenobi fell deferentially beside the Great Doors to the council room, obviously waiting for his master to take up the traditionally assigned position before they opened the doors to the antechamber where an attendant would alert the High Council of their arrival.

"Patience is the mark of a Jedi, Obi wan, there could be many reasons the council has summoned us, don't be so quick to jump to conclusions."

And with that, the elder took up his position, ahead and slightly to the right of the padawan, as tradition dictated, before both moved into the waiting antechamber.

[966:3:3] 9:30am)

"Well, that went well."

"Sarcasm is one of the lowest forms of wit, my apprentice."

The Jedi pair were finalising their preparations for a 'long-term' mission, which, it had not escaped either's notice, the _length_ hadn't been specified. It was always better to assume the worst case scenario and be over-prepared than, as his apprentice put it, "Caught with your trousers down", so packing enough ration bars, local currency, long range transmitters ('If any Jedi lands in the middle of Daggobah, I have a running bet with Quinilan that it'll be _us_ Master, so I want to be prepared' came Obi wan's retort to his questioning.) and energy cells.

When they were _finally_ kitted out, enough to withstand a small siege, the two Jedi left their master-apprentice room down to the hanger, where their waiting transport would take them to _Mandalore_ of all places.

Apparently there was _pacifist Mandalorian_. Well, he'd heard of stranger things, namely a failed initiated that, a few years later, was actively rumoured to be a potential council member upon attaining appropriate seniority.

"Master," his wryly grinning apprentice began, once they'd reached the hanger and gone through the pre-requisite checks of both transport and gear.

" _Obi-wan?"_ it was odd how his apprentice chose then to, presumably voice a question after they had completed their checks.

"You do realise that this mission is the stuff of initiate nightmares. I think that we were assigned this deliberately so that the Council could find a way of stopping any other potential unorthodox Jedi and getting us out of their hair at the same time. Two mynocks, one blaster bolt."

' _Damn brat'_ the Master sent over their training bond fondly. The two Jedi boarded the transport with little fanfare, having said their goodbyes and commiserated over the unspecified, but apparently _long_ mission they were to go on.

With that, both men took a final look at their Coruscant home in what they could _feel_ would be some time and began plotting the course for an appropriate hyperspace jump when their ship reached the departure point outside the planet's atmosphere.


	2. Chapter 2

968:9:19 4:27pm (around 11:40am on Tatooine in Mos Espa) – On Entering Mos Espa

Qui-Gon walked through the street that was, for all intents and purposes, Mos Espa's main commercial road, a… _bizarre_ array of, well, _anything_ looked like it could be traded here.

Luckily, as a Jedi Master, he'd travelled to many such locations, the novelty and almost sheer _awe_ that would have struck anyone, was no more than a passing flicker to be brushed off, in favour of a mission.

Of course, not every member of his party could say the same, especially, he winced, when they passed a small slave market. Travelling the length of the galaxy and having hardened himself to the suffering that he _knew_ , but it didn't make it any easier, he could not change made it almost _too_ easy to brush aside another reminder of the barbarity of the outlying systems.

A small gasp, and Qui-Gon could just _imagine_ the picture of the girl behind him, for it had been similar to his own. Mouth open in shock, partially covered by a hand (not all etiquette lost, even in the throes of distress), eyes wide, looking to imprint this memory so that _when_ she came back, she would know exactly how to eradicate it.

Ah to be young, idealistic and believe your power stretched into changing the underlying economy of entire _systems_.

Qui-Gon quickly shook off that thought, and the accompanying train that would have followed, something always along the lines of; _Oh Obi-Wan, why couldn't you have stayed_.

Turning to look at the … handmaiden, he grimaced. Who did she think she was fooling. He was a Jedi Master, everyone on the ship was on the same side, if anything, keeping crucial information would quite easily lead to her death, especially if the other guardsmen risked their lives to protect a decoy instead of her, or, such as now, where she was allowed to wander on an _unknown, possibly hostile, definitely unfriendly_ planet, with, what seemed resistance only from the Captain. _Well, that makes_ one _person of sense on the entire ship._

It was getting bad, the elder Jedi mused, when his internal thoughts took on his apprentice's dry humour to keep his spirits up, _as if the past two years didn't happen._

Padme had her posture exactly as Qui-Gon thought, except it looked like a few small tears building up. _Shock and pity,_ any other time, he would let another deal with their emotions in their own time and gently move them along. But here, a young girl, so obviously naïve, would be taken faster than he could blink, if the stares and activity from the shady cantina were anything to go by. He needed to get her out and realise that, on this planet, in this system, the horrors she was so unused to were normal everyday occurrences. They couldn't further jeopardise this mission due to one girl's ideals, no mater how powerful that girl happened to be.

Jar-jar on the other hand, looking around, not quite understanding what was happening, and being awed by a non-tropical planet with no water for miles upon miles. Of course, to a being that had lived their entire life on a single, lush tropical planet, going to one that was almost its exact opposite was most definitely jarring. Hopefully Jar-Jar would adapt quickly once he realised the gravity of the situation.

Or not, as the gungan began gesturing, _again_ to the sand-domes hiding some of the less well-to-do citizens that couldn't quite afford the more distinctive huts.

"Come on, Padme, Jar-Jar, we need to find a hyperdrive. If the dealers along here have nothing, we'll try one of the smaller ones." Although, his gut was urging him to look at the smaller stores.

With great difficulty, Padme turned from the sight of the slave market, her composure barely holding as she looked to her Jedi protector and fellow Nabooian.

"Please, master Jedi, can you do nothing about this?" her arm waved encompassing the whole of what appeared to be the lower-class quarter and slave district.

"Padme," he began patiently, she _needed_ them to get this hyperdrive to help _her planet_ , and yes, whilst there _was_ untold misery and suffering out in the galaxy, individual actions would, overall, change nothing. The Senate, the Jedi, the Courts, _that_ was how change could be accomplished, helped along by individual actions of course, but the bigger picture must always remain.

"No, we cannot, _for the moment."_ He added, seeing the anger and self-righteousness build up, trying to stave it off for a less public confrontation. "We _must_ get a hyperdrive in order to get to Coruscant. _Your people_ are suffering as well. We can help them to greater effect than these unfortunate souls."

The anger abated, but only until they were back on-ship, then Qui-Gon would ready himself, and his arguments, honed from years as ' _The_ maverick', but until then, they _needed_ to find a shop. This mission was already far too complex even with the invasion. There was definitely some deeper work at play.

Suddenly, he felt a nudge to a particular direction, the strongest he felt the force since accepting the mission those weeks ago.

"Come, you two, I think I've seen somewhere."

Corralling the two outraged, smouldering Nabooians, along with R2D2, who at least didn't make trouble, along, the eclectic crew began making their way to the junkyard section of the town.

968:9:21 9:30pm (around 4:40pm on Tatooine in Mos Espa) – After the Boonta Eve Classic

As the Qui-Gon made his way towards the smaller booths within the stadium for the Boonta Eve Classic to find the Toydarian Watto and collect his _winnings_ , he felt a force signature that he'd been missing, like a phantom limb, for the past two years.

Quietly, shielding his presence in the Force, he slipped further from the booths towards the pit lanes housing the racers, or in many cases, the _remains_ of said racers.

"…stupid Ruusaan, we'll never get them like that." Two figures in distinctive Mandalorian armour were leaning on a workbench, helmets down, in a rather animated discussion, involving, if not the racer, than at least one of their pods or sponsors nearby. The armour made it difficult to detect which one was his apprentice, and with a more muted Force signature, Qui-Gon was then slightly apprehensive as to what he would find, if not his beloved apprentice.

Letting his Force shields slip, just enough for a trained Jedi to sense him, as they often did in Hide-and-Seek games with younglings, the taller of the couple trailed off, and began making rapid gestures to the other – presumably 'Ruusaan' – and they fell quiet, the shorter then heading off, most likely to a more secluded alcove not filled with crates or tools.

Then, as the figure turned, the Jedi Master got his first good look at the Mandalorian.

Green armour, sand-coloured linings and fabric – most likely to represent gold, if his memory served him well of Mandalorian colours. Specific colours meant different things, but for the life of him, Qui-Gon could not remember what each colour represented.

Conscious of the potential cover of his apprentice, and all to aware of his own as a recently entering spacer, neither man made grandiose movements towards each other. Qui-Gon slipped next to the Mandalorian, who graciously poured a drink from a container left by Ruusaan.

"Qui-Gon, its good to see you again." The mandalorian's voice, altered through his helmet, filtered through.

"Obi-Wan." And _Force,_ Qui-Gon couldn't remember the last time he felt such a lump in his throat.


	3. Chapter 3

[968:3:2] 9:30am (3:47pm on Vjun)

Three hundred and sixty eight days.

One Galactic Standard Year.

One year since he had left the Jedi Order.

A rattling explosion quickly drew Obi-Wan Kenobi – or Ben Merak as he now called himself – out of his reverie.

Screams, of fear, rage and shear stupidity mixed with blaster fire and explosions, rubble threatening to fall on any poor _shabuir_ not fast enough to keep moving, he _hated_ catacombs with a passion, no matter if they were a _fucking shortcut_ or not.

The dismembered arm of some poor bastard caught in a frag explosion served to underline that thought, ambushes were just too bloody easy in unmapped, cramped _fucking catacombs._

Instincts honed from mock battles with his _aliit_ told him to lean out and _fire now damnit!_ The scream of a modified blaster pistol ringing out three quick shots – _head, arm, torso_ – onto the two poor _shabs_ that chose that moment to lean out and were a fraction too slow. Not waiting to see the results, the young Mandalorian leaned back into his rocky cover.

His comm buzzed to life, quickly flicking it on, he pulled his wrist close to his mouth and bellowed at his _alor_

"You _dik'utla_ bastard! You think we all have _jaro_? Your damn contact screwed us over! When I drag myself out of here, we'll have a talk on fucking _good intel_ before a job!"

It took a few seconds for Corvin Wolesy to respond to that, obviously hoping the job was complete.

"Dammnit Merak, you don't tell _me_ how to run my jobs. You may have karking decent nav skills, but you're working _for me_ you _wermo_ mando! Once you deal with the Red Titans, grab the stims and get _out with it_ , I'm not letting another shipment fall into those _schutta's_ hands. Kill them then contact me. Wolesy Out."

" _Karking di'kut_." Obi-wan muttered into the now deactivated comm. He turned to shoot some other merc that tried to use stealth to move up through the brief no-mans-land the firefight had created, and sighed. Just as it was turning into a relatively peaceful day, an _ambush_. For the love of Hod Ha'ran, _something_ had it out for him, he just _knew it._

"Alright _Mikiyuna_ , ears up. Garret cover the left with blanket fire, _do not let up_. Kira with me, focus small arms on the far right stalagmite. Trevik, use your poison grenades at the centre. Na'hallas, cover him. Lets kill these _Stupa_ and get home." Not for the first time, Obi-wan felt grateful that they all had comms, and _he_ had what would pass as small-unit militia training.

He waited, one beat, two beats… Now!

He quickly leaned out of his cover, blaster screaming at the right stalagmite. Garret, quick off the mark, followed half a beat later with blanket fire, which by the sounds of it, removed one _chakaar_ from the equation. Not fast enough that a brief blaster burn to Obi-wan's shoulder didn't hit at the weak point between the plating, freezing his arm slightly. Kira, thankfully spotted this and fired a salvo closely behind, getting the arm of the poor bugger, with Nas' almost obliterating the centre, with the characteristic _chink-clank_ of a metallic grenade.

And _three, two one…_

The hiss and accompanying gagging sounds, followed by six thumps told him that their enemies were down at least.

Thankfully, they had expensive-but useful – air filters built into their helmets – _and the Force, which always helps_ – while their opponents obviously didn't.

That, was lucky. Any longer, and they'd have lost another crew-mate. Thankfully, only _desperate idiots_ would even think about using frag and poison grenades in enclosed spaces, especially if the integrity of the area was uncertain, but, using the Force and some intelligence, they were able to, barely, make it out.

"Ha ha. _Da tinka leah_ Ben. That was brilliant." Chortled Na'hallas – or Nas to his friends – his furred hands gleefully tapping out a small rhythm on his rifle. The Bothan was always excited after a fight.

"No, it was stupid, and barely worked, thank Kiax we weren't killed." Kira grumbled, coming up to the bodies to inspect their handiwork and lighten the corpse's load. "But" she begrudgingly allowed as she appropriated the blasters, "That was the best of a bad situation. Good plan, but it will probably kill us next time."

"We're alive, that's what matters, thanks to the young one." Garret, the zabrak came over, fondly cluncking Obi's shoulder guards. Noticing his wince, the zabrak pulled out a medi-stim from his belt and handed it to the man he called 'young one'.

"Can't have a wincing Mandalorian with us when we get the deal, it'd ruin the whole intimidation image we have going."

"Oh yes, I completely forgot, my only purpose here is to stand around and look menacing whilst his holiness Corvin completes the job via hologram. Lucky me."

"Well we've already lost our wookie, so you're now top of the intimidation list. If our big bad mando walks with a limp, we'll be laughed out of the deal."

Trevik ambled up, the zabrak, with a strange affinity for explosives began immediately searching the rest of the caves for any un-triggered tripwires or traps. On his all clear signal, the eclectic mix of a Correllian, Mando Bothan and the Zabrak pair, began moving through the larger, central tunnel.

Upon reaching a set of roughly hewn stairs leading to a small door that would open into an alleyway, the group paused and began checking their gear for any damage. It would do no good after all, to meet the client that would sell them a kark-load of stims looking battle-weary, that was _not_ the intimidation tactic they were using. The whole reason they had a mando and Zabrak pair, and their much lamented colleague Taraan, was to force the corporate double-dealer into a lower price range.

After informing Corvin, who began cursing the Red Titan's to take a one-way trip to Kessel, he told them to go straight ahead whilst he changed into his 'Noble Robes' for the hologram meeting.

Whilst medical stims themselves were definitely NOT illegal, the large quantity they were planning to ship, could only be carried legitimately by registered medical transports. Enough medi-stims together, with a bit of clever thinking and syntho-chemistry that Obi Wan didn't even pretend to understand, and surprisingly mediocre quality hallucinogenics, could be created and later sold. The beauty of it was, that the excuse of very much concentrated and specialised medication would actually stand up to scrutiny, so possession of _small_ quantities of 'Synthstim' wouldn't actually get the possessor in too much trouble.

Of course, this wasn't stated in the job description, which asked for a crew to transport a lot of stims at a disproportionately high price tag, to an old lab section on Belkadan. Only after their idiot of a captain accepted it, along with a selection of decidedly illegal alcoholic beverages as a 'tip', did the rest of the crew agree to the potentially illegal smuggling run.

Upon reaching the cantina, as agreed, the group split up and entered one at a time between groups of customers. Garett, Nas and Trevik all entered after around 10 standard minute intervals,

Obi-Wan entered along with Kira, and selected a not too grubby table near the centre of the room, not too far from the entrance. If this table was in the perfect view of the corner and side tables chosen by the others, well, that was just coincidence. Whilst Kira went to the bar to subtly get their client, Obi-Wan let his Force senses spill out, allowing him to at least _notice_ everybody in the cantina.

Before long, Kira returned with a rather mousey looking human in very carefully non-descript clothing. Obi Wan could just feel the nerves coming off him.

"So, this is my friend Bendak." Kira muttered almost sweetly into the anxious human's ears. All the more disconcerting with her scarred eye glaring at him. "Bendak, _this_ is our client…"

"T-Tomaso."

"Hmm, yes, you did mention. Well, _he_ is being _very_ generous by giving us twenty five k-grams of med-stims for ten thousand credits."

"Hey, I-I need to sell this for at least twenty, no way I could make a profit otherwise. And no one said _Mandos_ would be getting involved."

Sometimes, the bloodthirsty stereotype of madalorians annoyed Obi-Wan. Other times, like this, the lazy stereotype of people that never looked beyond holo-dramas, came in useful.

"Unless these are _high quality_ med stims, and this girl _knows_ high quality, I do think you should reconsider your offer."

A quick hand gesture, unnoticed by Tomaso, gave him the signal.

"Well, it seems we are at a _disagreement_. There are a few ways we could _settle_ this." Obi Wan, under the distinctive helmet, put gruff emphasis on those particular words, and with a few movements to coincidently reveal an array of blasters and knives, he continued "But first, such a _large_ quantity to be selling. Should we be worried that this will cause trouble for us. Because." Obi wan continued, just as Tomaso was about to stutter an answer. "If it does, _we_ always find a way to _repay_ any transaction, on a like for like basis. You help us, we help you. It seems rather simple really"

Just as Kira was about to add her own thoughts, Tomaso suddenly appeared to grow a spine.

"Ha, you can't threaten a legitimate citizen in a public place, how many cameras and witnesses are there here."

Of course, that observation may have worked better if Tomaso didn't allow Wolsey's crew to choose the location.

At that moment, just as Tomaso began to get a second wind, a human server came up.

"Ah, hello Kira, I thought I saw your face here. The usual my dear?" The man leaned over, sharing a smile with Kira, looking like an old friend.

"Oh of course Falin. And a small Savareen brandy for my friend here." She indicated Tomaso, and carried on.

"Unfortunately Bendak wants to keep his head clear, so has to pass on your delightful selection."

"A celebration? And you are not drinking my friend." Falin turned to Obi-Wan, who gestured as if to say 'well, what can you do?'

"Ah, I shall of course see to it, if there is anything we can help you with, it would be a pleasure." And with that the server walked away.

Tomaso was, _hopefully_ , not stupid. The slight widening of his eyes made it clear.

"Oh and don't try anything foolish like _running_ Tomaso my dear." Kira really could have become a very good actress in a number of holodramas, as she gestured to the two tables, both with an eyeline and position that any exit would pass by one of them closely.

"We have _lots_ of friends here." And with that, both tables turned to stare directly at Tomaso.

Sweat was now cascading down Tomaso's face, eyes frantically going back and forth. And to seal it off, at that moment, Obi-wan's comm chimed. A short 5 inch hologram of Corvin, in robes more befitting a minor lordling of alderaan appeared.

"Ah Kira, punctual as ever. Have we finalised the deal, I have many impatient clients knocking on my door eager for this to work."

Confronted with the presence of hardened mercenaries, a cantina willing to look the other way and now _nobility_ from the Core worlds was too much for Tomaso, he quickly caved to their twenty five k-grams at nine-thousand ("A lesson, Tomaso, _never_ leave a girl waiting, you won't know what would happen to her prices."), and their drinks arrived, a bitter ale for Kira and brandy for Tomaso, who rather shakily drunk to a 'profitable deal', before handing over the coordinates and keys to the warehouse, and following the mercenaries out of the cantina to pick up the goods.

Disguising the sealed stims as crates and generic rations, the crew made their way back to their ship 'Sundered Desert' in high spirits, packing the stims, still disguised, into lined-smuggling compartments, and enjoyed a taste of some highly fortified Vjun wines, illegal almost everywhere outside of Vjun itself.

After Obi Wan had entered the coordinates, and drunk his fair share, still under complaints that he just _didn't seem to get drunk_ , he entered the comm room on the ship, essentially a glorified cupboard, he then made a call _home_.

"Hey _cyar'ika_ the job is nearly finished, give me another week and we'll be five thousand credits richer." He looked fondly at the blue hologram of perhaps his one true love.

"Oh Obi, as long as you are safe. As soon as you are finished, we'll meet up on Tallek. Remember _ret'lini ganar kad ratiin_."

The Mandalorian once known as Obi-Wan chuckled.

"That was one time Satine. I don't think you'll ever let me forget it."

Mirth in her eyes, Satyne Kyrze, at that moment hunting a bounty in the Kooriva system, giggled and ended her comm call.

" _Gar be'ner darasuum,_ Obi-Wan Kenobi."


End file.
